


still sweating from the rush

by sjalfvili



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Thor: Ragnarok (2017) Post-Credits Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-03 02:23:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15809394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sjalfvili/pseuds/sjalfvili
Summary: she meant to do it, and maybe he did too





	still sweating from the rush

The Statesman had gone quiet. People settling in, some rummaging the ship for necessities, most digesting what transpired.

Everyone seemed to find some place to be, even if it was just a corner to huddle in. And so if everyone else did, why shouldn’t she? Night had been designated and after a bit of wandering, Brunnhilde found an empty space, one the Grandmaster usually reserved for small parties. The man could never go anywhere without an entourage. There was always a room for them. She flipped a switch and the lights of the room came to life.

Parties meant drinks. And _oh_ what a day for one.

From the cabinet she chose a few drinks at random and settled herself into one of the darker corners. Brunnhilde kicked off her boots, abandoning them to the floor with a slight thump for each, and rested her heels atop the ottoman.

The low hum of the ship was slightly more comforting than utter silence. She was use to the radio, or Sakaar’s busy streets down below and the rumbling of crowds cheering for contenders. Brunnhilde twisted open a bottle, uncaring to what sort of drink it was, and brought it up to her lips. A little too much had happened today. More than it should have. More than she expected. Drinking and forgetting was what she was good at, not necessarily fulfilling the prophecy one’s people dread. That, however, could be added to the small list.

She didn’t want to think about that though. Perhaps tomorrow with a hangover, followed by a buzz, she could pay a little more mind to it. For now, drinks. What else is one to do at the end of the world? As far as background noise, she’d have to settle for quiet rattling and hums. After a few drinks she wouldn’t hear it anymore and be asleep on the couch.

\---

Her eyes had shut only moments ago until a noise urged her awake. At least, she thought it had been but a moment. There was still a bottle in hand, not entirely empty but rather empty, and an unopened one on the table beside her feet. The battle had worn her out, bringing her into sleep before drinking herself into it.

Lifting her head from the arm of the couch, Brunnhilde found a figure hunched over, digging in the same cabinet she had scavenged her drinks from. She recognizes the green color on the shoulders, looking broader than they were from the cape draped from them. It’s likely he didn’t see her there, or thought she asleep and wouldn’t notice his presence.

She lulls her head to the side and her voice comes with a rasp, “After a day like this, it’s a shock only _you_ had the same idea.”

The moment she spoke it sounded as if his head collided with part of the cabinet, quickly turning to see her. He’s met with a smirk, she startled him. It was rather funny.

Loki gathers himself in one breath, a bottle of liquor in hand. There’s a pause, and his weight shifts.

“There isn’t enough for everyone to share.”

He refuses to admit that he’s already checked several rooms, all turning up empty save the one _Valkyrie_ happened to be in. It should not have come as any surprise. However it clearly caught him off-guard.

Shifting in her seat, there’s a tilt to her chin and a moment passes before lazily lifting her bottle.

“There’s at least enough to drink only _ourselves_ sick. I’m done caring for everyone else.”

There was little care for how bitter it sounded, after all she had given up quite a lot for it. Perhaps it would be preferred if they dropped her off at the next habitual planet so that she might go on her way.

She tipped her head back, took a swig, and wiped her lips with the back of her hand. Loki was watching her, it seemed that his eyes were a little wide.

“You’re clearly not above helping in the midst of possible extinction, yet when all our warriors are dead you’re likely to let abuse reign?”

It felt like he was testing her, for the accusation came quickly. There was something to think about though, despite however much her inebriated mind might allow. Still, she sparked a glare and an unimpressed curve of the lip.

“I know you. You’re one to talk.”

She hoped it was enough to cut him off there. For the moment, it did. He was satisfied with the retort. Brunnhilde couldn’t see what it was, but Loki pulled another bottle of the same out from the cabinet and closed it.

There was a long hesitation before he finally set both down on the counter, eyes remaining rather intent on Valkyrie until he moved. Loki grabbed a small glass and opened one of his bottles and poured a hefty serving. Again, he looked up, watching her a moment.

“The least you could do is allow them the chance to honor you before you take your leave.”

He picked up the glass and walked over, Brunnhilde leant back defensively as he set it on the ottoman in front of her. Her now-empty bottle was set on the ground and she tentatively plucked the glass. Discreetly, she took a whiff. It was absinthe.

“If you don’t want the praise… then why don’t you pass it to _her_ ,” he said.

And it was true. Ásgarðians took hold of any opportunity to celebrate, to honor one another. In a time such as this, it would be healing. She could not deny her people that. It would be the proper lasting impression of the _last_ Valkyrie.

But he had mentioned _her_. Brunnhilde knew. She had forgotten that he had seen it, reminded her of what she had been running from. If her lover had not brought her here, then would that not mean she had saved Ásgarðr in her name? Loki was right. Oh damn, she hated to admit it. He was right. She would have to stay until honor is paid. Inwardly she would do so gladly, but keep spite in place as not to have her image misplaced.

Loki turned, satisfied by her reaction. She had not realized that expression had gotten away from her.

The absinthe was gone once he had turned back, standing where he had once been. Perhaps he read her well, but now it seemed that she could not gauge any bit of his countenance. There was something there, something off about him.

“---why don’t you share a drink with me?” The words spilled out of her mouth from nowhere. She never really offered it to anyone. Especially not someone like him.

It off-put him. The unreadable expression turning into clear perplexity. He almost seemed to be considering it. But Brunnhilde doubted that her invitation would fall unrejected.

“What for?” he asked quietly. The intrigue was obvious, even gentle.

He had seen her past, and for most it would repel connection. As it rightfully had. Familiarity was resentful, but it was shared somehow. Maybe it was the liquor, but she wanted to know why.

She couldn’t really find an answer for him. Merely shrugged her shoulder and set down her glass back onto the ottoman. Her offer had only slipped out. But the reply came to her.

“You have good taste in drinks.”

A corner of Loki’s lip curves and shoulders rise slightly to emphasis his chuckle, amused.

“Not many would drink absinthe for its taste, Valkyrie.”

“Exactly.”

He considers it, fingers quietly tapping against the counter until he moves to take a matching glass. One bottle is tucked under his arm while the other is held by the neck, his acceptance of her offer is answered by his movements and the taking of the place on the other end of the Valkyrie’s couch.

The absinthe is set on the surface of the ottoman, and with the other he fills both their glasses. Brunnhilde regards him carefully, unsure of the more than respectable distance between them, but she takes the drink. There was a chance that he was merely attempting to poison her, for Loki was a trickster after all. But she figured she’d take that chance, if only to get into that head of his in return.

It was only fair.

\---

By the end of the last bottle they had drank to the dead, honorable men, the passing away of an ancient realm and toasted over the fate of a mutual annoyance, the Grandmaster. The bottle happened to slip from Brunnhilde’s fingers and shattered on the floor, causing the prince to chuckle. Liquor seemed to make him smile, which was a better look than that frown he always wore. She may admit to have done it purposely. Smashing bottles was something she did well.

As not to accidentally cut her own feet, she shifted and tucked legs underneath her, turning towards Loki who looked to be considering the remaining absinthe in his glass. The tentativeness had gone, replaced with a slump in his shoulders. She eyed him, contemplating what was now missing or forgotten by him. Loki no longer seemed too overly concerned with everything, other than the way the liquor moved in the glass.

“If you’re not going to drink that, I will.”

He breaks out of the trance his eyes were caught in with a scoff and a spiteful sip.

“I don’t see how you’re still coherent.”

“Practice.”

“Oh, _I’m sure_.”

There’s a pause. Long enough to be pregnant with a thought.

“How’d you know?” she asks, and it takes him a moment to reply.

“Know what?”

“That I’d want honor. It’s not like she hasn’t been honored before. But—“ Brunnhilde’s voice trails off, dark eyes absently looking to the broken bottle on the glass. She sees him shrug in the corner of her eye.

“It makes letting go feel a little different. Fate is in the shape of a circle, or at least something like it. An educated guess.”

She wasn’t there when all the Valkyrie were prayed for, honored, and sacrifices buried into legend. They had honored her fellow warriors, herself, yet more importantly whom she loved. But she was never there for it. She had ran. Now this had been her chance of recompense. Loki saw it, made it visible to her as well. It felt… awfully benevolent of him. She questioned it with her chin propped on a fist.

“Have you something to let go of?”

His head tilted down slightly, an obvious indication to his answer, “Most everyone has something.”

Inching forward, Brunnhilde reaches to pluck the drink from his hand. He tries to move it out and away from her grasp but she catches it before Loki pulls it away. She sits back to drink it and smirks at him, extending the empty glass to drop it and allows it to fall to the ground and shatter. The fragments joining in with the others.

He breathes in, it would seem that he doesn’t quite like loud noises. He had flinched beforehand. But there is a quick glance towards the door of the corridor, perhaps he doesn’t want any attention to be drawn towards them.

Taking it upon herself, she leans forward closer to him, as if to further inspect—

“Come now, _your majesty_. What sort of story have you got in there? You know mine.”

Loki breathes an uncomfortable laugh, his tongue swiping his bottom lip.

“Oh, I’m sure Thor has given you quite the explanation for me.”

“Nothing rings familiar to me.”

“Familiar? Hm. It seemed to be that you two _were_ —“

“Bullshit.”

His expression animates into something akin to a knowing tease. Brunnhilde scoots herself, closing distance between them, to grant him her pointed glare. It may be the absinthe but he’s not intimidated anymore. She doesn’t think she wants him to be. “He’s not my type.”

Loki rolls his eyes, “Oh, _please_.”

The glare had faded and her gaze had caught his attention. He hadn’t been so close to her, aside from his attempt to disable her one or twice before. There was a distinct difference between then and now. Though inebriated, he was sober enough to read. “Don’t tell me you’re looking to _familiarize_ yourself with me, are you?”

She wasn’t going to deny it. But he didn’t sound all that sarcastic. His question was genuine, but evidently doubtful. There was little she could do to stop herself. Drunkenness was but an extension of herself, Brunnhilde never really apologized for it.

“We both have something to let go of.”

A hesitant pause. Just to ensure that he heard it. Loki didn’t move away when she leaned further, and at first he blinked. Her head tilted just so, and he watched her gaze glance towards his lips. A slow consideration. Slightly ducking his head, the rest followed suit until lips met.

For a moment they stayed there as a subtle embrace. He responded again, parting his lips to grant a far proper kiss. The bitter taste wasn’t all that different from their own, though they could breathe one another in. Her hand found purchase in his collar, lazily pulling so he’d dip his shoulders. Despite their sitting, he still felt taller.

He touched her cheek, then her hair, gently tangling fingers into her roots. She didn’t question what was happening, merely letting it be. Had she minded it, she would have taken broken glass to his face. Somehow it was her idea in the first place. A ridiculous one she might think if she were sober. But she never really was. Instead Brunnhilde grinned in the midst of it. She hadn’t expected Loki to be generous or careful, but every touch felt as if were a form of adoration. She blamed the drinks. No one’s should touch her kindly, not even a trickster.

It didn’t start quick, but something had cut it short. A sharp breath and Loki broke from the kiss, her hands still gripping him. His eyes were wide again, as they were when he had first come in. She could really see them now. A rather brilliant sort of green. Brunnhilde frowned, brows knitting in concern. “What--?”

“Nothing—I…”

She had stolen his breath. He looked as if he were cornered, panic started to rise and it was obvious Loki was shoving it down. “I—I… I need to go.”

He removed his hands, pulled away from Valkyrie’s and distanced himself by standing. She could no longer tell if he had lost breath because of _her_ or by this unseen force that had brought him to disengage. Disappointment could not help to be admitted, nor showed.

“Loki—“

His boots crushed the glass beneath them, leaving behind a trail as he parted back through the room. Green cape appearing grey in the dim room. He didn’t want to leave with no word, so he stops near the counter and turns.

Loki’s expression was more apologetic now, mixed with the a sort of fear for which reason she could not determine.

“I’m sorry.”

A pause.

“I can’t. Not now.”

Somehow, she understood. She gave him a subtle nod and he left.

Still, she was left wishing to have gone about it differently. To make him stay.

\---

The ship’s sirens didn’t last long. Time was running out quickly. Every step forward felt like ten towards inevitable doom. Apparently, Ragnarök hadn’t ended. It followed them here.

Brunnhilde had leaped from, what seemed to be, a short nap into action. Rushing the nearest of peoples into any available escapes as quickly as possible. Someone, something, was firing at them. The Statesman was no vessel for battle. Staying here was suicide. The opposite end of the ship sounded as if it had been ripped open, and now the Valkyrie found herself in a position of helping the others on board the escape pods.

She could lie to herself and believe that it was out of mere obligation, or a form of third or fourth nature. But it was relatively good distraction. Albeit, the entirety of the situation was a distraction enough to what had happened with Loki. She hadn’t been able to shake it.

Korg had been close enough to aid in directing the people, suggesting everyone organize into a line in order to file into ships. But there wasn’t necessarily time for that. The Asgardians ignored him, mothers pushing through to ensure their children to be safely placed on board.

The Statesman shuttered again, shifted until it tilted and groaned. Korg held onto the wall for support, and Brunnhilde took hold of one of the young girls who tripped over her own feet. Everyone had paused, as if expecting. She helped the girl steady herself, passed her back to who she assumed was her mother or guardian.

The people seemed to be looking at her, watching. Brunnhilde tilted her head, jerked a glance towards the escape, “Keep loading the pods. The attack is coming from the bow of the ship. We don’t have much time left.”

It was unexpected to have the authority, but they willingly obeyed and trusted her word. There seemed to be an end of the crowd, but—

“Korg, release the pods that are full. Join one, would you? This isn’t everyone.”

Footsteps interrupted her last statement, and just as Korg had turned away Loki came into view. Brunnhilde held her breath defensively, but the prince looked like as if he had seen a ghost. Once he caught sight of her, his own defenses became visible. But still he looked sorrowful.

She thought to put it aside and spoke up, “Loki, this isn’t everyone. They’ve gone onto the pods but we’re missing the rest of---“

“They’re at the front,” he says, breathless.

Loki must have been going there. Whatever it was, he knew. Solemnness was brought to her understanding for it. She had taken the mantle of hero into the eyes of the people, and he, too, would play a similar part. Neither of them were all that deserving.

“I’ll come with you,” she says. But Loki shakes his head.

“Valkyrie, you need to stay with them,” his head inclines towards the small ships, “I will send the rest your way once they’re retrieved.” If there were any.

She nods somberly at him, wishing to correct him on her name but now wasn’t the time for it. Maybe after she could tell him, over another drink.

_The ship intercom releases static, a voice peaks through the crackle,  Hear me, people of Asgard. Mercy has come…_

Whoever has intercepted the ship’s communications, it was clear Loki didn’t like it. He had that same look from when she shattered glass.

She wants to reach out to him. Touch him and somehow reassure him that it would be alright. But it was out of place. She had to stop herself mid-step.

_Hear me… and rejoice._

Loki hesitated, waiting just a second more for her to say something, he started to turn away.

“Loki---“

_The intercom cracks open again,_   _You may think this is s---suffering._

She had stopped him, and he faced her once more. She remembers him. He has something to let go of too, and it looked like he was nearing it.

“Don’t die.”

It pleased her, if only just a little, to see the second of a smile of his peek through before he went on his way.

_\---Smile, for even in death you have become children---_

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first official fic, and not necessarily anything I usually write, but thought I'd try something different  
> find me on tumblr as sjálfvili


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